Tag: I AM

doegred-main:

Inspired by this post and misbehavingmaiar’s head canon.

There is a strange flash in Maedhros’ eyes, something oddly similar to deep satisfaction when the Maia before him, instead of trying to break his shackles turns into a shiny fluid that bubbles and… In a sudden movement the Noldo throws his sword away, behind a door that his herald promptly closes. Barely a spark of pain appearing in his expression as his right shoulder hits the ground, his left hand flies toward a switch. The movement clearly rehearsed. A flicker of his fingers and the noise of running water filling the cellar is joined by a strange high pitched buzz. 
Maedhros’s laughter is low, throaty and deeply satisfied as the shiny metallic fluid the Maia’s limbs have become twists and turns, splitting in beams that are violently pulled by an unseen force towards the enormous four metallic disks affixed to the floor and ceiling linked together in a toroidal shape. Now, along the mouldy smell of wet earth a pungent ozone scent fills the room.
“Do you like this Thauron?” Only now Sauron notices it: there is not a single piece of metal on the Noldo’s body, his armour replaced by a leather cuirass, strings and buttons instead of clasps..
With slow elegance, contrasting with the breathless tone of his voice, Maedhros refuses his herald’s help and rises to his feet, his eyes shining with satisfaction as he lets them roam over the trapped Maia.
“I studied so long how to make this work.” There is something almost dreamy in his tone.
It is only after a minute of contemplation that the Noldo is finally able to look away. Lightly licking his lips he directs his gaze to a small table covered by a rag. His eyes seem to burn like gray pools of molten aluminium. Turning his back to the prisoner, in a gesture of confidence so unlike himself, he walks toward it, his hand delicately lifting the cloth before the Noldo spares a sideway glance towards his captive. His tone now amicable, almost conversational. “You know: the trickiest part was figuring out the cooling system for the magnets.”
A sickeningly sweet smile twists Maedhros’ lips as he faces his guest again. His hand now grasps what looks like a small spear, its blade shining a glossy white in the unsteady light of a Fëanorian lamp.
Ceramic, a blade of ceramic with a long wooden handle.
“Besides I wanted to make sure I could cool you too, in case you tried to raise the heat. You know..”
The Noldo lightly rotates his shoulders, as if getting ready to exert himself. Suddenly a line of tengwar starts shining on the blade in his hand. His voice is almost a murmur as Maedhros comes nearer the Maia.
“It would be such a shame to make this too brief..”

In the beginning, his Father forged the body he wore in the same molten furnace as the works of the Earth; he’d awoken knowing perfect affinity with each material Sang by Aulë, his own essence replete with their power. It was an act of desperate futility to bind any Maia with mere metal, but especially him– especially Sauron.
He’d begun to melt the chains as soon as they’d been hurled around him, almost without a thought. How does a foe I thought so keen of mind resort to this? His stern face wore only puzzlement as he summoned his red hammer to his hand, pulling it into being out of his own flesh– then the noise began, and his Noldor enemy sprung into practiced action. 

His hammer resists him. There is no magic, no Ainur presence besides himself, but something holds the weapon in the air as firmly as the fist of Tulkas, and his arms strain to bring it even an inch forwards. Red-gold eyes widen. The hammer bends– wilting as if in great heat. It disobeys his will and its solidity dispenses back into liquid potential, coating his skin, but he cannot reabsorb it. His own flesh buzzes with horrendous sound that is more than sound; the pressure without origin twists his feet from under him and he falls sideways into the wall just as surely as if the room had changed its axis. Maedhros looks at him with eyes narrowed in mad, victorious joy– the force that can incapacitate a Maia has no effect on him; he is its master.  

He is frightened. He can hear the song of planets whispering from the disks of metal on the floor and ceiling, but he has never heard this arrangement before. It feels like something he should know, something the matter of his body should hold understanding of, something his Father made. It is new to him who helped shaped everything that is. He is frightened. 

All the power in his muscles will not budge them from their fixed point, the coiling remains of his weapon, and the contorted lattice of metal that were the treacherous chains bind him as surely as shackles, dancing in strange liquid patterns on his skin. He can turn, but not move, twist around only to be repelled, as if the force had some malignant logic behind it. Water flows over the metal and over him, unsettlingly warm and smelling of hot metal. It drips from his face and beard the same temperature as blood, carrying his sweat with it. He does not hear what his enemy says, he does not see the runed ceramic knife until it is under his chin, tracing his sternum.  

“What have you done– what is this? What have you done??” Are all the response he can give to prelude to torture, numb to any threat but the invisible hand that holds him improbably captive.